Words
by Angel1876
Summary: Maria was never good with words, nor would she ever be. However, words aren't the only way to comfort someone.


Maria never could affect people with mere words. It simply wasn't a gift she had naturally. Not once had she been able to persuade someone to her view by speaking to them. It was how she ended up on that lonely road so long ago, after a fight with her family that had started with her only stating an opinion that somehow got blown completely out of proportion.

Abandoned and starving, no one helped her then. She'd begged for even the tiniest scrap of food, had promised everything she could think of, and yet they all ignored her. Everyone, except one.

Doctor...

Just when she'd thought she'd been about to die, he came, warm fingers against her chilled face and a promise of food, however could she refuse? And he did follow through, though she'd found herself in a cell. Belly full for the first time in months, she wasn't about to complain. He could have stuck her in the gallows for all she cared, at least she'd die away from the cruel clutches of starvation.

Of course, when she'd seen another person there, with her, suffering, well. She wasn't just going to sit there and do nothing. This was the first time she found that her actions did indeed speak louder than feeble words. She'd bandaged him up with her own ragged clothes, and while her attempts at assurance hadn't affected him in the slightest, the relief from pain had him thanking her in his weakened, raspy voice. She'd been happy that she could offer him some comfort, but what felt even better than that had been the doctors words of praise. His offer to take her on as his assistant was more than she ever could have dreamed of.

It wasn't long before her body had filed out, lost it's thin, sickly pale complexion. She found herself able to smile, and actually mean it. His family didn't like her, that much was made clear. It hurt, but she could manage. As long as the doctor was there, as long as he cared, she was willing to face the disdain of a thousand.

The first time she found herself pressed against a wall, her beloved sliding the dress he himself had bought her away from her skin to pool on the floor, she realized that her appearance could influence as well. His own words whispered into her ear told her so, warm comments on her beauty and the striking shade of green her eyes held. It was, perhaps, wrong of her. He was married, he had a daughter, the little girl he'd named her precious mistress. More than once he'd made it clear that no harm was to come to her, no matter what happened.

Through the years, her words became less, restricted only to accepting orders and, occasionally, voicing careful opinions. Her worries that his family would learn of their relationship, mostly, though there were other topics. How grateful she was to him, how she adored those soft caresses in the night, the way his voice sounded when he lowered it to a purr.

She didn't think the day would ever come when he would turn his anger on her. It was her own fault, really, for loosing the girl. She'd failed him, and he'd made sure that she knew it. Again, she was left on the ground, abandoned, left to die by the one she trusted most. She'd been forced into a situation in which words were the only thing that could save her, and as always they'd come up short.

When the mistress came and saved her, echoing what her father had done, Maria couldn't ignore that kindness. In that moment, she swore that no matter what, she would get the child out of there safely. As if the universe wished to test this commitment, she found herself with a choice, her beautiful doctor whom she'd fallen in love with that day on the street, or the little mistress, whom was suffering his betrayal just as she was.

In the end, she picked the one that was most like herself. It physically hurt her to throw those knives, to embed the cold unforgiving metal into her lovers' flesh. She'd wanted, more than anything, to cry at the sight of the spilled blood pooling around his unmoving form. At the sight of tears in her mistresses eyes, however, she pushed the urge back, and tried to think of something, anything she could offer that would ease the pain. It wasn't something that could just be wrapped in a bandage, words would always fail her, and the young girl would obviously care nothing of her body, no matter how lovely she'd grown under the doctors care.

Yet...she realized that though there was none of that sort of intent behind her touch, there was one thing she could use her body for.

With arms as steady as she could make them despite the weakness she felt from stress and loss of blood, she folded the mistress in close to herself. The child wept and sobbed openly in her hold, her fingers digging uncomfortably into the front of her dress. Maria didn't mind, slowly drawing one hand up and down the girl's back, nails lightly tracing over the spine. The doctor enjoyed it when she did this, as did the mistress, it seemed. The shivering, clenched muscles slowly died under her touch, leaving only the silent flood of liquid that seeped into her clothes from her eyes. Softly, Maria pressed her face into the soft black hair, purposely breathing a little harder to reassure her that she wasn't alone, even if both her father and mother were gone now.

Unthinking, they'd both let their guard down, and as the chainsaw snarled to life one more, all she could do was wrap herself around the mistress and hope it was enough to protect her from the blow that would undoubtedly slice easily through Maria's own defenceles flesh.

There was no pain, as there'd been when he'd cut through her in punishment for her disobedience. For a moment, she wondered if she might be dead, if she would join the moving corpses that plagued their once peaceful home. Then came the wet sound of a body hitting the floor, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the doctor was finally dead.

As the house fell in flames, she and her mistress escaped into the night, and though they were physically free, they both found themselves trapped in the past. Though the hotel room Maria rented out with what little money she had held two separate beds, they hardly used the second one. Each night they slept as close together as they could, Aya tucked into Maria's protective arms. It was easier that way, to calm her when she started to whimper in her sleep. Even Snowball was of little comfort to the mourning girl.

Maria hid her own sadness away, to be expressed only when she was out of sight or earshot of her companion. Letting Aya see her heartache would only upset her more.

Even then, she still couldn't find the words that would make everything better, but that was alright. She could thread her fingers through the girl's long hair instead. Or brush them up her arms. Or anything, really. Aya wasn't picky, so long as she was being held she was more or less content.

Sometimes, when she pulled the mistress close, Maria wondered if this was what motherhood might be like. Not that she would ever know, she couldn't carry a child, and no one would ever let a homeless maid adopt.

Still...this was nice. It wasn't like what she'd had with the doctor, far from it, but she wasn't alone. She had Aya...and Aya had her. And this time, she thought, nothing would ever change that.


End file.
